10

Cope

Several days later and after careful consideration of all the facts his and Jude's research dug up on Kit Savage, Cope decided to accept his invitation to be a guest on Ghost After Dark . The podcast host agreed to record the live séance at West Side Magick. He was allowed to set up in the conference room an hour after the shop closed for the night.

Savage's team had gone through the entire room with a fine-toothed comb, presumably looking for any kind of device that would make the table shake or emit ghostly sounds during the broadcast. Cope had told them not to bother wasting their time, but the team kept up their search, eventually concluding there was nothing in the room that could be used to fool listeners.

Everyone was standing in the office area, watching Kit and the other members of his team set up microphones and the equipment needed to record.

"I really appreciate you all being here," Cope said. All three of the detectives had stayed late, along with Carson and Cole, who wanted to be on hand to make sure their store was portrayed in a positive light. Thankfully, Jace was home with the kids, who were happy to hang out in the pool and eat pizza from Greek Life. It was the first time Jace had handled all five kids by himself, but at least Kaye was across the street if he needed her.

"We're all set, Cope. If you'd like to come in and take a seat, we'll get you hooked up for sound." Kit beckoned him forward.

"I'm coming too," Jude said, escorting Cope toward the conference room.

"We don't need your help, Mr. Byrne. You can watch the broadcast from out here with your friends." Kit turned and started to walk away.

"Not going to happen." Jude's tone had gone from cooperative to hard as nails. "If I'm not allowed in the room, then Cope and I walk out."

Savage rolled his eyes. "I'll just grab one of the others. Carter and Carl will do."

"You mean Carson and Cole?" Jude asked. "No, they won't. What you fail to understand is that this has been a thriving business for decades. First under the ownership of Bertha Craig and now with her sons, Tennyson, and Cope. We're not going to allow anything that happens here tonight to affect the reputation of this shop or the people who work here."

"What exactly do you think is going to happen, Mr. Byrne? Do you think we're going to burn your husband as a witch? Or proclaim his psychic gifts are bogus? I have just as much to lose here as Cope does."

"I've met several members of your staff who are here to protect your interests. That's exactly what I'm doing. My sitting in a corner away from the microphones won't matter, now, will it?" Not waiting for an answer, Jude shouldered past Savage and walked into the conference room.

Somehow managing to keep a shit-eating grin off his face, Cope followed behind Jude. He trusted his husband to know when to pull the plug if this séance started to go sideways, whereas Savage would mine the situation for ratings gold.

Fifteen minutes later, after several microphone tests, Savage was ready to go. "We're going to shoot this straight. We can go back in later and do edits before I post this to the podcast channel."

"No," Cope said.

"What do you mean no? You never asked for right of first refusal." Savage looked annoyed. Again.

"You have to air this as is. If you start editing things in or out, then no one will believe in the authenticity of this reading."

Savage raised an eyebrow.

In an instant, Cope understood what was going on here. "You don't believe in my gifts, and you're hoping to exploit that during your broadcast."

"I believe what I can see and hear with my own senses. You're going to need to convince me your gifts are genuine before I believe them."

If Savage needed convincing, Cope was happy to oblige him. Several spirits were milling around the room at the moment. Bertha Craig was one of them. She didn't look pleased with Kit Savage's attitude. "He's still got his guard up, Cope, but he'll drop it soon enough. I'll make sure to help things along."

Cope was glad for the help, but there was something more important at stake. "Thanks, Bertha. I'm here for Domenica."

"We're all here for Domenica, pal," one of the sound techs said in a scoffing tone, "but now that we've swept the room and gotten rid of your sound machines, she's not going to show up, is she?"

"Sound machines? What the hell are you talking about?" Cope asked, turning in his seat to look at Jude, who looked just as baffled.

"All that shit in the corner." The tech pointed to a side table that was piled high with the telephone and the sound station they used for conference calls.

Cope opened his mouth to explain what the devices were but decided to keep quiet. If Savage's team thought those devices could be used to make fake ghost sounds or to project Domenica's voice from a stand-in, so be it. "How is it that you all work on a podcast that deals with hauntings and none of you believe in ghosts?"

"I'll believe in ghosts when I see one."

"Fair enough." Cope knew Bertha would be more than happy to oblige if push came to shove. Cope opened his gift wide and was thrilled to realize the sound tech was an open book. His mother had died when he was fifteen, and there had been a bit of a mystery surrounding her sudden death. A mystery Cope now held the key to.

The door opened, and one of Savage's guys motioned Kit forward. The two men spoke in hushed tones before the man stepped away and closed the door behind him. "We're ready to begin." He took his seat across the table from Cope and adjusted his microphone. "This is Kit Savage, and welcome to a special live edition of Ghost After Dark . I'm at West Side Magick, a psychic shop in my hometown of Salem, Massachusetts. Witch City. My guest this evening is psychic Copeland Forbes. Originally from New Orleans, Cope made the move north about six years ago and has become a valued member of the community, along with his husband, cold case detective Jude Byrne. Welcome to the podcast, Cope."

"Thanks for having me." An unsettled feeling tickled his gift. Something was going on. Cope could feel triumph radiating from Kit Savage but couldn't nail down why he felt that way. The man was hard to read, holding his secrets close.

"Last week, while we were recording episode one of this season of Ghost After Dark , we heard the ghostly voice of Domenica Fibonacci asking for my help. I reached out to the psychics here in hopes that one of them would be able to communicate with Domenica's spirit."

Cope felt sick to his stomach over the way Savage had sneered the word psychics . This was definitely a setup, but the question was why? What the hell did Kit Savage have to gain by seeming to exploit him or the others who worked here? The one thing Cope knew for certain was that he wasn't going down without a fight.

"Over the last forty years since Domenica's death, it seemed everyone formed an opinion over how the mentally ill wife of Vic Rothschild died. Some say she was pushed. Others say she jumped. Still more believe her death was a tragic accident caused by the wind and torrential rain of Hurricane Mitzi. We asked for Cope's help to speak with Domenica to settle the debate once and for all, but in the effort to be impartial, I've invited one other guest to join us." Savage smirked at Cope. "Come on in!"

A tall man in an impeccable suit walked into the room. His once dark hair had turned to shades of grey. His sharp, dark eyes glittered with determination. He might be forty years older than the night Domenica died, but Cope would recognize the man anywhere. "Vic Rothschild," he said tightly.

"Very good, Cope. It's almost as if you somehow knew he was coming here tonight."

From behind him, Cope sensed movement. Jude was on his feet and ready to end this shitshow. Giving his husband a shake of his head, Cope turned to Rothschild and tried to take his measure. He wasn't getting very much.

"Welcome to Ghost After Dark , Mr. Rothschild. It's a pleasure to meet you." Savage held out his hand to shake.

Cope took a deep breath. If Savage thought that Rothschild showing up unexpectedly was going to ruffle his feathers, then he most definitely had another thing coming. "Mr. Rothschild," Cope said genially.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Forbes. I knew your father. We made quite a bit of money together. Buford was a hell of a man, but I'm sure you already know that." Rothschild offered Cope a cold look.

"Indeed he was." Hearing his father's name was a surprise, although it shouldn't have been. Rothschild and his father were of an age. Money made money, as the saying went.

Savage looked absolutely delighted by the bit of drama he'd created. "Mr. Rothschild, I know this is going to be hard for you, but could you tell us about your wife and the night she died?"

Rothschild nodded and let out a shuddering breath. "Domenica was the most beautiful woman I'd ever met in my life. I knew instantly I had to have her as my wife." The wistful look on his face fell away, and what was left chilled Cope to the bone. "I wish now that I'd spent more time getting to know her before our quick wedding. Domenica suffered severe mental illness that she and her father both kept from me long enough for me to put a ring on it." Again, the cold smile was back.

As Rothschild spoke, Cope read the man. He was telling the truth, so far.

"When did this illness rear its ugly head?" Savage asked, his full attention on Rothschild.

"The night I brought my bride home from Italy after our honeymoon. She was cagey and couldn't seem to settle down. I assumed at the time she was dealing with jet lag. It's always worse when you travel from east to west. I just chalked her behavior up to being in a new place, and that was that. Until it wasn't. Over the next few years, I was subjected to her mood swings, her restless nights, and rages. That's not to say that there weren't times when she was the sweet woman I'd fallen in love with, but as the years went on, there were more bad days than good."

"Leading up to the night you had to commit her to a psychiatric hospital." Savage sounded appropriately solemn, but Cope knew it was all an act geared toward making Rothschild look like the victim.

"That's right. Letting the attendants take my beloved amore away from me was the worst moment of my life. She stayed in the hospital for several weeks before she was released back into my care, heavily medicated to keep her manic depression, as it was called back then, under control."

"What led up to that tragic last night in the eye of the hurricane?"

Cope fought to keep from rolling his eyes at Savage's amateur dramatics.

"Domenica was sound asleep in her bedroom. We slept in adjoining rooms because she often had restless nights, and she didn't want to disturb me. I heard her get up and start to scream. When I got to her room, it was empty. She was running down the stairs, telling me to get away from her. Before I knew what was happening, Domenica was outside, racing toward the edge of the cliff. The power had gone off in the storm, and it was raining so hard that you couldn't see more than a few inches in front of you. She stopped at the edge and turned to face me." Rothschild took a hitching breath. "She said she never loved me and that her life was hell on Earth. Then she jumped." He brought his hands to his face and began to cry. Loud, gasping sobs that would have won the man an Oscar had this been a movie.

"I know how hard it must be for you reliving that awful night." Savage patted the weeping man's shoulder.

Rothschild's hands fell from his face. As Cope suspected, his eyes were dry. Not even a long crocodile tear was visible. "It's not nearly as hard as having spent the past forty years being accused of murdering my precious wife. My amore ."

As Rothschild continued to pour his heart out to Savage, Cope read the man. His emotions were all bullshit. The man was thrilled to be getting this kind of attention. Cope couldn't help but wonder what Rothschild's endgame was. Was he trying one last time to clear his name? Or his conscience?

"What are your psychic gifts telling you about that tragic night, Cope?" Savage asked, turning away from Rothschild.

Cope felt as though he were trapped like a lion in a cage. Did he tell the truth or hedge what his gifts were telling him? He took a deep breath and hoped he didn't live to regret his words. "I could clearly read Mr. Rothschild's emotions as he recalled the night in question. I saw flashes of the man's memories, chasing Domenica through the house that last night, the red-hot rage that burned within him. Those memories abruptly stopped when he confronted his wife at the cliff's edge. Not a total surprise since events with high emotions and trauma tended to be recorded in the memory as a blur. People often report tragic circumstances happening so fast. In the blink of an eye. That's thanks to the heart pounding and adrenaline surging through the body. In those situations, the human body reverts to its fight- or-flight instinct, not in recording memories. I can't tell one way or another if Domenica fell or if she was pushed."

"So, you're a doctor as well as a psychic?" Rothschild made air quotes. All traces of his earlier grief were gone. Rage burned in his eyes. His hands were wrapped around each other so tightly that they'd gone white.

In that moment, Cope was scared. He was seeing a flash of the monster that Domenica confronted on that last night. The beast she'd spent seven years living with. Her only desire was to escape and survive. Both were denied to her.

The last thing Cope was going to do was confront the widower and accuse him of killing his wife. Rothschild knew he was an only child and that Buford's assets were over the billion-dollar mark when he died. It would be an easy lawsuit to win with Cope's own words serving as his own personal hangman.

"No, Mr. Rothschild, I'm not a doctor. If I were, I would diagnose you with narcissistic personality disorder, as other armchair psychiatrists have done over the years." Cope paused and watched the man's volcanic temper continue to rise. "You're not upset that your wife died. You're upset because forty years later, people, including the Salem Police, believe you killed her. Your wife was terrified of you. Her only goal was to escape your viselike grip and go home to Italy."

"How fucking dare you try to tell me that I don't grieve the loss of my wife? Her death broke me, mentally and financially. The Fibonacci family sued me for wrongful death. They won. I had to sell off my assets to pay them and my other debts, which were called in under the assumption I'd be arrested and convicted of her death. " His teeth ground together as he spoke. "I lost everything!"

"Lies!" an angry voice cried out. "All lies! Bugiardo! "

Cope didn't need to speak Italian to know Domenica was calling her husband a liar. "Domenica, is that you?" Cope asked, knowing damn well it was.

"What the hell is going on?" Rothschild shouted. "You arranged this all! Someone recorded that bullshit voice to torment me."

"No one arranged anything, Mr. Rothschild." Cope felt annoyance building inside of him. "Domenica, tell me how to help you."

"I want to be free," Domenica said. " Liberta ." The voice faded and was gone.

"I wish there was more I could do to help Domenica," Cope said gently. "There's obviously something keeping her here, trapped in this realm, that isn't allowing her to cross over. Mr. Rothschild, I think if you give her permission to go, she will." Asking for his help was the best Cope could do. He could see the outrage plainly written on Rothschild's face. Cope didn't need his gift to see the man wasn't going to lift a finger to help his wife's suffering spirit.

"I don't have to sit here and listen to this manufactured bullshit!" Rothschild stood quickly. His wheeled chair shot backward, crashing into the wall, as he practically ran out the door.

Savage's mouth hung open, but no sound came out.

"I'm here, Domenica, if you ever want to talk. Let me help you cross over and find the peace you deserve."

Domenica didn't answer, but Cope knew she heard him, just like he knew she'd be back and would be willing to spill every last detail.

It was only a matter of time before he'd know if Domenica jumped or was pushed.